


Secret Santa

by callmecirce



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmecirce/pseuds/callmecirce
Summary: Marinette decides to get creative in delivering her Secret Santa gift, and gets herself caught somewhere that she isn't supposed to be.





	Secret Santa

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to you, @psyriaart ! I’m your Secret Santa, and here is your gift! ♡ PS: If you have an AO3, please let me know so I can gift the work to you here as well!

Ladybug carefully opened the large plate glass window and slipped into the empty room as quietly as possible.  At least, she hoped it was empty.  She’d been observing it for the past twenty minutes, dithering, on the excuse that she wanted to make sure it was empty.  There’d been no movement within, and her excuse had worn thin, even in her own mind.  If she didn’t do what she’d come to do, then she was going to have to just give up and go home with her tail tucked between her legs.

 But—no.  She was _Ladybug_ , damnit, and cowardice just didn’t sit well on her shoulders.  So here she was, sneaking into Adrien’s room with his Christmas gift tucked safely in the bag slung over her shoulder.

 Of course, she could have just given it to him directly, and all of this skullduggery to leave it in his room anonymously would have been unnecessary.  She ignored that very Tikki-sounding voice, reassured herself that this was not a cowardly way to go about it, and dropped silently to the floor in his room.

 Now she just had to figure out where to leave it.

 On his bed?  No, too creepy.

 His desk?  Too impersonal.

 The piano?  No, too…random.

 Ladybug bit her lip indecisively as she looked around the room, trying to decide on the perfect place to leave the gift.  A few minutes later, she gave up.  She needed help.

 “Spots off,” she whispered, catching Tikki gently in her palms as the little kwami left the earrings.

 Tikki looked at their surroundings in confusion before meeting her eyes.  “Marinette, what are you doing?”

 “I don’t know where to leave it, Tikki!  I want it to be perfect, not weird or random, you know?  And it can’t be too obvious, because what if someone else comes in here before Adrien gets back?  What if it’s the cleaning lady, and she throws it away?  What if it’s Nathalie, or his fa-father and they confiscate it?  What if Adrien does find it, but thinks it’s creepy that someone broke into his room and—”

 Tikki’s eyes widened at the panicked tirade and flew up to nuzzle the girl’s flushed cheek comfortingly.  “Calm down, Marinette!  I really don’t think it matters that much where you leave it, so long as he sees it.”

 Marinette blinked.  “Really?”

“Really!”  Tikki smiled encouragingly, and gave the room a quick once-over.  “What about on the coffee table, by the TV?  It’s not near the door, so anyone coming in won’t see it immediately, but in plain enough sight that Adrien is sure to see it soon.”

 “Oh Tikki, that’s perfect!”  She knocked the heel against the side of her head with a groan.  “It’s so obvious, why didn’t I think of that?”

 “Because you were over-thinking again,” Tikki giggled.  “Now, hurry up and leave it so we can—”  She broke off with a grimace and dove into Marinette’s over-sized bag, hiding beneath the gift.  “Too late,” she muttered, and Marinette’s gaze snapped up to see a familiar black-clad figure flying unerringly toward the still-open window.

 “Oh, no!”  Marinette looked frantically for a place to hide, but to no avail. “No no nonononono!”

 “Just brazen it out, Marinette,” Tikki hissed as Chat Noir hit the floor in a dive and rolled gracefully to a crouch.  “He saw you.”

“Princess?”  He asked, rising from his crouch.  “This isn’t your tower.  What are you doing here?”

 “Um!  No-nothing!  I just, ah, was doing a favor!  For Adrien!”

 “For Adrien?” he repeated, his voice curiously dry.

 “Ye-yeah!  He um, he asked me to…get a book for him!”  She crossed to his desk and picked up the graphic novel sitting next to his keyboard.  “See?  He forgot it, and asked me to grab it for him.”  She clutched it frantically to her chest, and began edging toward the door.  “So, it was really good to see you, but I have to get going.  Adrien needs his book after all!”

 She’d gone three steps towards the door when Chat Noir landed in front of her, and leaned negligently on his staff.  She stopped short and stared at him with wide eyes as he smiled lazily.  “Chat?”

 “I happen to know that Adrien did not send you here for a book.”  He quirked a brow and leaned forward to pluck the book from her grasp, tossed it back to the desk, and leaned on his staff once more.  “So what are you really doing here?”

 She gulped.  “I was—I, uh…”

 His eyes crinkled in a smile.  “Pilfering his phone again?”

 “Wha–?” she gasped.  “How did you—I mean, no, of course not!  I’ve never stolen anything!”

 “You’re a terrible liar, Princess.”

 “Oh, alright.”  She deflated, and tugged the bag around to her front to clutch at it tightly.  “For the record, I only borrowed his phone to erase an embarrassing voicemail that I didn’t even mean to leave.  And today…”  She opened the bag and pulled out the brightly colored package, wincing when she saw the sorry state of the bow.  “I just wanted to leave him a surprise for Christmas.”

 “Oh!”  He straightened, and a faint blush stained his cheeks.  “Really?  A Christmas gift for m—him?”

 “Yeah.  Giving him gifts usually end up in disaster, so I thought I’d try something else this time.”

 “Ah.”  He grimaced, and nodded in understanding.  “I see.”

 “ _Exactly_.”  She sighed, shaking her head.  “If even _you’ve_ heard what a catastrophe I am, then this is definitely the right call.  This way, I can be like a secret Santa, no humiliation involved.”  

She looked nervously over her shoulder at the door to his room, conscious of the long minutes she’d already spent in there.  “Speaking of, I think I’ll just leave it on the table there and skedaddle.  I don’t want to get caught here by anyone else and make _this_ into a catastrophe as well.”  Her eyes lit, and narrowed on him.  “Wait a minute, what are _you_ doing here?”

 His eyes widened.  “Ah, I saw someone sneaking in here, and wanted to make sure he wasn’t being robbed.”

 “Oh.  That makes sense, I guess.”  Her expression eased and she wandered over to the low coffee table to set the package carefully in the middle.  “I hope he likes it,” she murmured, when she realized that he’d followed her over.

 “I’m sure he will,” he murmured in reply.  “I’m _certain_ he will.”

* * *

Chat Noir held Marinette tightly as he carried her the short distance from his house to her rooftop balcony, his mind preoccupied with the present currently sitting on the table in his room and with the girl who left it there.

 How had she gotten into his room?  He would have sworn he’d seen Ladybug when he first glimpsed someone in his room, and it would have been easy enough for his partner.  For Marinette?  Not so much.   And why hadn’t she simply given it to him at school, or at the holiday party his father had grudgingly allowed Adrien to host?  It was scheduled for the following night, so it’s not like she’d have to wait long.

 Then he recalled again what had happened when she tried to give him his gift last year, and cringed.  Maybe this _was_ the better option.

 He landed lightly on her balcony and allowed her to slide to the ground, pointedly ignoring the way his hormone-riddled body reacted to the feel of her against him.  “Home safe and sound, as promised, Princess.”

 “Thank you, Chat.”  She rose on her toes and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek.  “If you’ll wait for just a moment, I have a little something for you as well.”

 He froze in place at the touch of her lips on his cheek, and managed only a stiff nod at her words.

 Blushing, Marinette opened the trap door and slid into her room.  She was gone only for a moment before she returned with another festive package and pressed it into his hands.

It was smaller than the box she’d left in his room, but just as beautifully decorated.  “Chat Noir” had been written in careful script across one of the large green polka dots that speckled the paper, and she’d turned the “O” into a kitty cat smiley face.

 He shot her a shy smile, thinking of the other gift she’d already given him—not that she knew that.  “You didn’t have to get me anything, Princess.  And it isn’t Christmas yet.”

 “Of course I did.  I give gifts to all my friends.”  She bounced a bit on the balls of her feet, smiling.  “Open it!”

 “Alright.”  Still smiling, he split the tape with a sharp claw and opened one end of the package to slide the box out of its wrapping.  To his delight, he found a bakery box stuffed full of his favorite treats from her parents’ boulangerie.  He immediately opened the box, lifted out a pale pink macaron, and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth with a happy sigh.

 Marinette laughed.  “Maybe don’t eat them all at once this time, yeah?”

 His mouth was still full of macaron, so he just shrugged.  He probably _would_ eat them all at once, even knowing the stomach ache he’d have when he was done.

 They were that good.

 He thought again of the package waiting for him in his room.  Would there be more of the same?  He couldn’t decide if he wanted there to be, or not.  They were amazing, but even he couldn’t eat that many sweets!

 As it turned out, he needn’t have worried.  The surprisingly heavy box had contained a beautiful, deep green chenille throw that was heavy without being thick.  It had been knitted with a very fine chenille yarn, making it both very soft and very warm.  There was no packaging, no tag, and no label.  Knowing Marinette, it was probably hand-made, and knowing what he did about textiles, he was overwhelmed by the number of hours she’d spent on it—let alone the cost of the expensive chenille yarn.  He unfolded it and draped it over his body, luxuriating in the comforting weight of the deceptively thin blanket and wondering how he could possibly thank her for the gift.

 Plagg, who’d made a bee-line for the cheese stash in his personal fridge the moment he’d been released from the ring, must have sated himself.  He floated over and lifted a corner of the blanket curiously.  “This is nice,” he said, running a paw over the material.  “But what is this?”

 “What is what?”  Adrien asked, dropping his end of the blanket to look at the corner Plagg held.  An interesting design had been stitched into that corner of the blanket and he frowned, recognizing the design but not immediately placing where he’d seen it before.

 When it clicked, he jumped up from the couch and went pawing through his closet, dead-set on finding one particular scarf. After a moment’s panic, he remembered that he’d worn it to school on Friday and found it jammed in his school bag.  With a sigh of relief, he took it and found the design that had been embroidered at one end of the scarf.

 Though smaller, it was an exact match to the one on his new blanket.  What’s more, is that from this angle, he finally realized that the design actually spelled out Marinette’s name.  What had she said in the bowler hat competition?   _I always sign my designs._

 It was Marinette’s signature.  Marinette had made his scarf.

* * *

 The next evening, Marinette stood in front of the mirror in her room, critically eyeing the black and green tea-length cocktail dress she wore.  It was conservatively cut, yet it hugged her slender body in a way that flattered her petite figure before flaring out at the hips to swirl gently around her thighs.  It was made of a buttery soft green underdress, with a black lace overlay that made the green look darker than it actually was.  She’d painstaking sewn on tiny Swarovski crystal beads here and there in the lace, making it sparkle when they caught the light.  All in all, it was the perfect dress for a semi-formal holiday party, even if it was at the home of a world renowned fashion icon.  Besides, it wasn’t the elder Agreste she sought to impress—it was his son.

 “You look lovely, Marinette!”

 Marinette pirouetted before the mirror and grinned at Tikki’s reflection.  “Do you think Adrien will like it?”

 “Of course!  Everyone will!”

 “Thanks, Tikki.”  Marinette giggled, and held out her coordinating purse, already stocked with cookies.  “Are you ready?”

 “I am!”  She dove into the purse, but peeked back out.  “I can’t wait to hear your parents’ reaction.  You did such a great job on the dress, and you look so pretty!”

 Tikki was not disappointed.  They oohed and ahhed over her creation, bemoaned the rate at which their little girl was growing up, and took enough photos to fill an album.

 “Wait, where is Alya?”  Tom asked suddenly, frowning.  “Don’t you two usually go to these sorts of things together?  I don’t want you out there on your own.”

 “No, Papa, Adrien is sending his driver to pick me up!  Isn’t that sweet?  He offered chauffer services to anyone who wanted a ride, just to make sure all of his friends could attend.”

Her father’s expression cleared.  “Have I mentioned before how much I like this Adrien fellow?  Such a gentleman.”  He grinned mischievously and turned to his wife.  “I can’t wait to make their wedding cake!”

 Marinette flushed hotly, but giggled in spite of herself.  “Papa!”

 Sabine laughed.  “Don’t worry, I’ll remind him never to say that sort of thing in front your friends.”

Marinette shuddered theatrically.  “Heaven forbid!”

 There was a quiet knock at the door, and she twirled to stare at it, excitement spiking.

 “I think your ride is here,” her father said dryly when she didn’t move to open it.

 “Oh!  Right.”  She opened the door expecting to see Adrien’s chauffeur, or perhaps someone else from the Agreste staff.

 She did not expect to see Adrien himself, standing at her door with a sheepish smile.

 Marinette shrieked, and slammed the door.

 Tom snickered.

 “Marinette!”  Sabine scolded, and reached past her daughter to open the door once more.  “Hello, Adrien.  Come on in.”

 Adrien looked at Marinette uncertainly.  “Hi.”

 “Hi.”  Marinette ducked her head, blushing hotly.  “I-I’m sorry.  I wasn’t expecting you, and I panicked.”  She glanced up, and smiled.  “Would you like to come in?”

 “Sure.”  He stepped awkwardly inside, and his eyes swept over her.  He blinked.  “You look… _wow_.  You look amazing, Marinette.”

 The heat returned full-force to Marinette’s cheeks at the compliment.  “Thank you!  So do you.  I mean, no!  Not beautiful!  Handsome!  I mean, of course you are, you’re a model, and—”

 “You do look very nice, Adrien.”  Her mother cut in, her hands landing gently on her shoulders.  “Since you’re here, would you mind taking a few pictures with Marinette?”

 “ _Maman!_ ”

 Adrien chuckled, and inclined his head.  “I don’t mind at all, so long as you share them with me.”

 “Of course!”  Delighted, Sabine shooed them over to stand in front of the book shelf, and began snapping photos.

 Before she could get carried away, though, Marinette slipped out from under Adrien’s arm ( _omg he’d had his arm around her!_ ) and bussed her mother’s cheek.  “I will be back later, Maman!”

 Sabine smiled knowingly, but lifted Marinette’s coat from the back of the couch and handed it to her.  “Have a good time, dear.”

 “Don’t forget your curfew!”  Tom added as he draped his arm over his wife’s shoulder, and dropped a kiss on his daughter’s head as she tugged the coat on.

 “I’ll make sure that she gets home safe and sound, sir.”

 “Thank you, Adrien. Merry Christmas!”

 “Merry Christmas!”

 Marinette led the way through the door and down the stairs to street level, acutely aware of the boy—the young man, really—who followed close behind her.  Was he personally picking up all of his classmates?  Or just her?  Alya hadn’t said anything about a personal pick up, and she’d certainly had no idea about it.

 At the bottom of the stairs, he slipped around her and pulled the door open with a flourishing bow.

She giggled at the overdone gallantry, and he met her gaze with a smile.  “Your chariot awaits, my lady,” he said, gesturing to the car parked at the curb.

 “A limo?” she gasped, staring at him in shock.  Then her brain finished processing his words, and she started, staring after him as he walked to the car and opened her door.   _Just a coincidence_ , she thought, catching up with him.

 He grinned. “It’s only a small limo.”

 With a breathless laugh, she slid into the back seat, and continued to move until he had room to slide in beside her.

 Adrien’s enormous driver glanced in the back seat to make sure they were both buckled, and then pulled away from the curb with a grunt.

 Marinette shifted in her seat, nervous but also very curious.  She licked her lips and forced herself to ask the question that had been burning in her mind.  “So…did, um, did everyone get a personal pick up from the host?”

 Adrien laughed a tad uncomfortably, and shook his head.  “Ah, no.  I…I wanted an opportunity to talk to you, alone, and I knew that we probably wouldn’t get an opportunity to do that at the party, so…”

 Marinette’s heart thumped hard in her chest, and she stared at him, wide-eyed.  “You wanted to talk to _me_?  Alone?”

 “Yeah,” he said, softly.  Turning his gaze to the driver, he said, “Malcolm?”

 The driver, whose name was apparently Malcolm, grunted again.  A tinted glass plate rose up between the compartments, affording them a degree of privacy.  Marinette started open-mouthed, then turned to look at Adrien with ever-mounting curiosity.

 He studied her face as if he was looking for something, and she squirmed under his regard.  “Adrien?”

 “Right, sorry.”  He blinked, and seemed to shake himself.  “I wanted to thank my secret Santa, for my gift.”

 “Your—oh!”  Her eyes widened yet further, and she felt herself flush scarlet.  “But I’m not—”

 “I was quite surprised to find it in my room, you know.”  He tilted his head quizzically, ignoring her denial.  “How did you get into the house?”

 She floundered, grasping desperately for an explanation that didn’t include a red suit with black spots. “I-I…ah, I um, snuck in through the back door?”

 That searching look returned to his eyes as he weighed her response.  Then he smiled enigmatically, and reached over to take her hand in his.  Her breath caught.  “Is this ok?” he whispered, and at her nod, his smile widened.  “You’re still a terrible liar, Princess.”

 Her eyes blew impossibly wide and she gasped.  “You’re…?”

 His smile turned sly, and it was 100% Chat Noir.  “The one and only.”

 “You—but—how?  Why are you—” She darted a look at the driver, and shook her head.  “Why let me know?”

 He winced sheepishly.  “I, um, looked at yesterday’s security footage for the area outside my room.”

 She paled and goggled at him, her mind reeling. She’d barely recovered from the shock of discovering that he was Chat Noir, and he was hitting her again with this?  She gulped, and decided to play dumb in the hopes that she was wrong.  “Oh?  Anything interesting?”

 He gave her a look that communicated quite clearly what he thought of that.  “Not now, there isn’t.  You’d be surprised at how easy it is to edit digital security footage.”

Damn.  She lowered her eyes, and fingered one of the crystals on her dress.  “So, now you know.”

 “I know that you’re my best friend, and that I’ve now fallen for you twice.”  Her eyes shot back to his, and he raised her hand to his mouth, to place a kiss on the back.  It was the first time he’d done it outside their masks, and her breath caught.  “I know that I want to ask you to be my official date for the party.  And I know that I would very much like to catch you under the mistletoe tonight.”  He smirked, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.  “More than once, if you’ll let me.”

 Marinette blinked, struggling to take it all in.  This was—this was a lot, and so much of the conversation had happened in subtext that her head was swimming just trying to keep track of the things that _hadn’t_ been said.  If she’d followed all of that correctly, then Adrien was Chat Noir; he’d figured out that she was Ladybug from the security footage at the mansion but had doctored it so that no one else could do the same; and he wanted _her_ to be his date for the night.

 “Marinette?”

 She looked up, and realized that she must have stayed quiet for too long; Adrien’s smile had melted, and he was now staring anxiously.  “How are you not freaking out right now?” she blurted, and then decided that _that_ was actually what she really wanted to know the most.

 He laughed.  “I did all of my freaking out last night, and got it out of my system.”  He rubbed the back of his neck, and chuckled again.  “There was a lot of freaking out.”

 “Oh.  That…makes me feel better.”

 “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

 She nodded, and chuckled a bit herself.  “I’m screaming internally.”

 “Okay, how about this,” he said, squeezing her hand.  “How about we get out of this car, go inside, and have a really good time at this party.  You don’t need to be my date, I promise not to accost you under the mistletoe, and we can talk about everything later.  What do you say?”

 “I’d say that sounds wonderful,” she breathed gratefully.  “But, would it be okay if I accosted _you_ under the mistletoe?”

 He grinned.  “As many times as you like, my lady.”


End file.
